La danseuse étoile
by Alexa Maye
Summary: I've always been a survivor. But the asylum-that was a different story. People didn't survive that place. Still, I knew I would live to tell the tale. This is the story of me, Mary Alice Brandon. La danseuse étoile-the primaballerina. The girl who knew.
1. Preface

**Author note – Do I own Twilight? No. Do I own Alice? No. Am I Stephenie Meyer? No.**

**Just read the story:)**

I closed my eyes as the moonlight washed over my face.

Ah. Bliss.

I spread my long, inky, black hair above my head, and opened my eyes, staring at the moon.

It was large, white, and glowing. It was beautiful. The stars twinkled peacefully in the night sky, spreading a calming effect over the countryside, and my mind drifted.

"MARY ALICE BRANDON! GET OVER HERE!" a voice yelled, interrupting my thoughts. Was it Miss Ethel?

"MARY ALICE BRANDON. GET. OVER. HERE. _NOW_."

I sighed. Yes, it was Miss Ethel. I lightly jumped up on my feet and crept into the house.

"MARY ALICE. I _SEE _THAT THE DOOR IS OPEN, AND I _KNOW_ YOU ARE OUTSIDE. GET. IN. HERE. _NOW_!"

I brushed the grass off of my nightgown, and took advantage of Miss Ethel's preoccupation of the open door, climbing through the open window. As innocently as I possibly could, I sat down on the stairs, as if I had just walked down from my room, and yawned.

"Yes, Miss Ethel?"

The expression on her face was priceless. The color of her face changed from normal, to pink, to deep burgundy, to yellow, and finally settled back to salmon-orange.

"Don't you lie to me missy! You know your father and mother do not approve of you strutting around outside like you've got nothing better to do with your life!"

I scrunched my nose up, receiving another death-glare from the housekeeper. According to her, I was going to have premature wrinkles.

"I do have something better to do with my life! I'm going to be a ballerina. You know that."

"That's my point! No normal ballerina struts around outside in the middle of the night!"

I lifted myself off the stairs and turned around to walk back up to my room.

"I'm off to bed. I'm tired. And for your information, I don't strut."

And with that, I slammed the door shut, and drifted off to sleep.

That night, I dreamed of stars.

I knew that Miss Ethel wouldn't stay mad at me.

What I didn't know was that the star-filled dream was going to be the last normal dream of my life.

**Hey guys! Did you like it? Please please please please please please please please review! Reviews keep me going. And I really need to know if I should continue the story or not. So please review! Reviews are like double chocolate cupcakes, and who doesn't love cupcakes?**

**Love, Alexa:)**


	2. Sticks and Stones can't Break my Bones

I woke up to a pretty face above my head. It was my baby sister, Cynthia. Technically, she's not really a baby or anything, but I still remember her being tiny. She's 12 and I'm 15, but we're closer than ever. Age can't divide us, anyway.

She kind of looks like me – we've got the same green/blue eyes, but our main difference is that she's got light brown hair, almost ginger, while mine is as black as a raven's wing.

I've always been slightly small in stature, about 5'2.5'', and she was definitely going to be taller than me, not that I minded. I danced a lot, and according to Miss Ethel, my dancing stunted my growth. But we looked alike anyway – what with our pixie-like features and all that.

I rose up from the covers, brushing the remnants of sleep away.

"What's up honey? Did the monsters come at night again?"

Cynthia's wide eyes grew wider and and she nodded, frightened.

"Come here." I smiled and hugged her close. She'd had nightmares for the last week.

She looked pretty shook up, so I tried to cheer her up.

"Do you want to go to the pond today? I hear the flowers are blooming! I can teach you to make a pretty wreath for your hair"

At that, Cynthia perked up.

"Really? You really would?" I laughed and kissed her hair. "Of course, shorty." Cynthia huffed but I could see her lips hiding a smile, and her eyes twinkled like the stars from my dreams.

"I'm not short!" She protested. "And you said I'm gonna be taller than you!" I giggled again. She was just too cute.

"Sure shorty. But I'm still taller! Anyway, let's ask mother? Then we can go!"

I got out of bed and pulled on a robe over my nightie. Cynthia was already downstairs, and I skipped down after her.

"Mummy? Can Mary Alice and I go to the pond today to make flower wreaths?" I heard Cynthia asking in her sing-song voice.

Mother laughed, and I heard her mumble a 'yes, of course darling.' but her voice was short, clipped. Almost unemotional, and it frightened me. It has been like that since I have remembered. She would laugh and smile and try to be nice, but it was obvious that all of her actions were forced. It depressed me.

Cynthia ran into me, bubbling with excitement, not knowing that I overheard her. "Mother says we can go! Oh, Mary Alice, what should I wear?"

I linked arms with her and went back upstairs. Breakfast would wait.

"How about your light blue dress? The one with lace?" Cynthia nodded excitedly. She loved that dress – it was light blue, had short sleeves, and was trimmed with white lace.

We split up at the corridor and I turned into my room, picking out the dress I would wear. It was a somewhat washed out shade of indigo, and the sleeves reached just above my elbows, hugging my slim shoulders and tiny arms. The bodice was decorated with a darker shade of lace, and the dress hugged my waist, and would twirl as high as I wanted it too if I spun. There was a white skirt underneath in case the skirt of the dress would twirl too high.

I loved it. Mother hated it.

It was the latest fashion, and she was still stuck in the 1890's, when girls were meant to walk around with umbrellas and wear frilly dresses with blouses that had serious puffing problems.

Ridiculous.

I got dressed, and let my long hair hang loosely down my back and my shoulders. With a twirl of approval, I waltzed over to Cynthia's room, to find her already ready with her hair pinned up effortlessly, with a loose curl hanging down from her up do. She had always looked older for her age.

And with that, we hurried out of the house, into the sunny field.

We walked over past the cotton fields of our hometown, Biloxi, Mississippi. We talked a little along the way – about Cynthia's boy problems, and my advances in the ballet school. We talked about Miss Ethel and how she was most likely the biggest softie deep down. But we never talked about our unemotional mother, and our father, who disappeared in the early mornings, and came home at late night. We barely knew him, but from what I saw he was pretty nice.

Pretty much, we were essentially a family of three – me, Cynthia, and Miss Ethel.

Finally, trudging up the last hill, we got to the pond. The flowers were everywhere – blooming, bloomed, beautiful.

I spent the rest of the day until lunch teaching Cynthia to weave intricate patterns out of the flowers, and we got home by 2 with colorful wreaths.

As expected, Miss Ethel was there – with a washcloth and her famous scowl on her face.

Cynthia turned to me and muttered, "I knew it. I knew it. She's gonna fuss over us for getting dirty." Sure enough, we hadn't even stepped over the porch when Miss Ethel swooped over us like a hawk and started yelling at us.

"Girls, girls, girls! How many times must I say that you shouldn't muck around in the dirty nature out there!" Cynthia stifled a laugh.

"And Mary Alice! I told you! No, I begged you not to strut around outside your whole life! Now look at you." She threw her hands up in dismay, and I giggled. "I'll never make a proper lady out of you." she sighed, dramatically throwing her washcloth at us, muttering at us to clean up our faces and get ready, and we heard something along the lines of lunch being heated up in the kitchen.

Lunch was uneventful, as was the rest of the day, and things only went wacky by nighttime.

I had said goodnight to Cynthia and was leaning out of my window in my nightie, because it was dark and the stars were out, but I didn't want Miss Ethel to see me. There's something about stars I like. They're somewhat like guardian angels, I guess. They light your way when your candle blows out and never stop watching over you, no matter how thick the clouds between you and them are. I smiled against the cool spring breeze, and closed my eyes.

And that was when it happened.

Time seemed to slow down, but I was noticing everything. I saw a group of boys, adolescents my age, nothing more, running up the the house with rocks the size of large apples in their hands.

Rocks that, the next thing I knew, learned how to fly. The first few hit the lower floor, and just as quickly, the boys spotted me, as still as a statue for some reason I could not fathom, and they sent their rocks at me.

I didn't have time to blink.

The next thing I knew the floor was rushing up to meet my face, and I was aware of something wet on my head.

Blood.

I grew dizzy and felt the world go fuzzy, unaware to the frantic pounding on my door, and Miss Ethel's frantic voice.

"It's okay honey, you're fine."

"Mary Alice! Mary Alice Mary Alice Mary Alice we love you!" And finally,

"You woke me up Ethel Gertrude O'Erin. Go back to your quarters."

For some reason, it was the cruel, unemotional voice of my mother that was ordering Miss Ethel back to her quarters that woke me up.

"No mother! Let her stay!" I slurred, but I probably sounded something along the lines of 'Nomtherrrrrlherrrrrrrstei' Everyone shushed. I was alive, by the sounds of it. I didn't feel like it.

I sat up.

"Mss Ethl? Cnthya?" I slurred again. I shook my head, getting my thoughts straight. "...Mother?"

No one responded. I looked around to be greeted by an empty room. I was in the living room, covered with a warm blanket with ice on the back of my head. I coughed.

And that was when people rushed in to the room, hearing my voice. First Miss Ethel, then Cynthia.

"It's okay honey, you're fine."

"Mary Alice! Mary Alice Mary Alice Mary Alice we love you!"

Then my very sleepy, annoyed, and emotion-less mother walked back into the room, and said what I knew she was going to say.

"You woke me up Ethel Gertrude O'Erin. Go back to your quarters."

then she took a double take, looked at me, shook her head, and walked away.

I slumped back into the sofa, my head feeling worse than ever before.

Something wasn't right.


End file.
